Page 165 of Buried in Blood

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I know this place.

It knows me.

I duck into a gas station bathroom to wash my face. The girl in the mirror looks older. Wilder. She’s got blood on her shirt and fire in her eyes.

I don’t flinch this time.

I walk back out, buy a hoodie two sizes too big, and pay in cash. The clerk doesn’t even look at me.

I leave before I change my mind.

I sleep behind a church that night—on the ground, wrapped in my hoodie and every ounce of fear I still carry. I keep the gun at my side. My hand never leaves it.

And when the sun rises, I’ll be there.

Waiting.

Watching.

Because I don’t want to disappear.

Not until I see them.

Not until I know they’re okay.

Not until Damienknows—

I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.

Iamthe dark.

And I’m coming back.

* * *

The house looks too normal. The porch light flickers like it knows I don’t belong here.

I shouldn’t be here.

But I am.

Because she’s the only person I trust not to shoot me on instinct.

Because part of me still believes she’ll open the door before I break it down.

I creep up the walk, hood pulled low, body tense. The forest is quiet—too quiet. I tuck the gun deeper into my waistband and step onto the porch. I raise my hand to knock.

Then I don’t.

I stand there instead, fingers curled into a fist, heart pounding so loud it makes my ears ring.

What if she slams the door?

What if she screams?

What if Lucien answers?

I don’t get the chance to find out.

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